Chapter 6

Here it is! As promised! Leave a comment if you want more!

Chapter 6 

"Bloody hell."

A man with a strong English accent mumbled to himself as he watched two supes go at it with one another in the air, causing destruction and chaos to the area around them. It was only due to pure fucking luck that no one was killed so far in their little squabble over what was probably fucking nothing.

But unfortunately, not everyone was unharmed as plenty of people were hurt and injured because they were unlucky enough to get caught up in it. And the hero 'trying' to stop the villain, could hardly care less.

The hero and villain fighting each other were either new or unpopular D-list supes that rarely made it into the limelight. In the sky, the vengeful eyes of the villain glowed a ghastly green, while his adversary's cheeks were flushed with arrogant self-righteousness.

It was a fierce battle, for D-ranks that is. Both of them are determined to win, more for their own pride than anything else. The man watched with mild interest as they hurled insults and punches at one another, their powers clashing in a spectacle of noise and color.

Their destructive scrap would probably be forgotten in the next hour when everything cooled down. The man shook his head and looked around at the destruction caused by their fight; he noted how civilians were sticking around taking videos with their phones as if they couldn't die at any second by a stray attack.

"What a fucking mess," he grumbled, adjusting the heavy duffle bag on his shoulder. Debris from nearby buildings fell like rain, showering the streets with dust and chunks of concrete. "When the bloody hell is he going to show up?"

Just as the Englishman finished his grumbling, there was an intense burst of sound followed by a powerful gust of wind. A man appeared in the sky in an instant, Homelander, was floating in the air his eyes scanning the chaos below, he was less than happy when he spotted the injured civilians being hauled into an ambulance.

" Fucking finally," the Englishman muttered to himself, a sardonic grin playing on his lips. He could already see the relief and excitement wash over the crowd as they spotted their hero. Phones were redirected towards Homelander now, recording him instead of the supes fighting.

As Homelander finished taking a quick survey of the area, he turned his attention to the D-list superhumans causing all this mayhem. With a swift move that made him blur in mid-air, he instantly got between the two idiots, causing them to freak the fuck out at the unexpected sight of the strongest hero in the world. His hands blurred as he separated the brawling supes by holding each by their collar. The fighting ceased immediately and Homelander's stern gaze was enough to silence whatever protests they were about to spew out.

The crowd erupted into applause, cheering their hero on as he chided the two supes like errant children before flying off to presumably drop them off at whatever super-prison they belonged in.

Shaking his head in amusement, the Englishman began to walk again, blending effortlessly into the dispersing crowd. After all, nobody paid attention to a man with a strong accent carrying a duffle bag when Earth's greatest hero was in sight.

Ring! Ring!

The sound of a phone ringing could be heard coming from the man's pockets pulling out a battered old mobile from his coat pocket, he glanced at the screen. The caller ID read "Wife". With a smile, he answered the call.

"Love! You won't believe the shit show I just saw over here," he said cheerfully, moving further into the crowd to avoid the residual chaos.

"Another supe fight?" His wife's voice came through crystal clear, sounding half-amused and half-concerned. "You're not near it, are you?"

"Nah, love. Kept a safe distance, didn't I?" He reassured her with a chuckle. "But get this, another supe broke up the fight between the two gits."

"You don't say!" His wife exclaimed on the other end of the line; her tone drenched with surprise.

"Two guesses on who it is" He flashed a smirk as he deftly navigated his way through the crowd.

The line fell quiet for a moment before his wife chuckled softly. "Homelander?"

"Homelander." The confirmation sent a peal of laughter over the line from his wife.

His wife's laughter echoed from the other end of the line, her voice dropping a few octaves as she attempted to imitate Homelander's heroic baritone.

"Fear not, good civilians! I, Homelander, have put an end to this senseless fight!"

He snorted at the impersonation, tipping his hat down over his eyes as he stepped out of the crowd and into a quieter side street.

"You've got it down to a T, love."

"Who knows, maybe I've missed my calling," his wife joked, her voice taking on a warm, fond tone that made his heart flutter. 

"But damn, I'm going to have a field day with this! John never tells me these things and even when I ask, he always says nothing interesting happens! And what happens next? I found out he stopped a runaway train, saved a school from getting shot up, and got a kitten down from a tree in span of an hour! I'm his social media manager god damn it! I need to know these things" 

"All in a day's work for our Homelander, isn't it?" He drawled, leaning against the cool brick wall of a building. "Pretty sure John doesn't want you to be overwhelmed, love."

"Overwhelmed?" His wife huffed incredulously on the other end of the line, "I'll show him overwhelmed when I post that embarrassing picture of him from last Christmas on his official page."

A hearty laugh escaped his lips at the thought of John's reaction. The picture she was talking about was one where he was wearing that horrendous Christmas jumper with a red-nosed reindeer looking particularly goofy and was caught off-guard, mouth full of mince pie. She had secretly taken in without him noticing before it was too late at Vaught's Christmas party.

"Go easy on him, love. Can't have you destroying his heroic image now, can we? He'd probably die from embarrassment if you actually did release it."

His wife's amused snort echoed through the phone. "Oh, he'll survive. Our golden boy tends to bounce back from anything."

"True that." He agreed with a chuckle before the conversation took a quieter turn.

"By the way…" His wife asked after a moment's pause. "Did you finish with the meeting?"

He glanced at the duffle bag next to him, its contents hidden from prying eyes. "No, not yet. Still getting to the meeting place, in fact, got delayed because of the supes."

"...Are you going to tell me what your 'super secret meeting' is about?"

He paused, glancing around the deserted street before responding.

"You know I can't love," he said gently. "Classified and all that."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, followed by a resigned, "I know, I know. Just... be safe, Billy. Please."

The sincerity in her voice made his heart clench, and he resisted the urge to check his surroundings once more.

"Aren't I always?" He reassured her, trying to keep his tone light despite the underlying tension.

"Since when is 'always' a thing for you?" she retorted playfully as he could hear the faint sounds of her typing away in the background. She was already drafting the next big headline Homelander would make.

He couldn't help but chuckle at her words, finding them amusing.

 "Fair point, love," he conceded, "But I promise to be safe."

"You'd better," she warned him, her tone light but firm, getting another laugh out of Billy.

"...All right," she conceded with a sigh. "Just call me once it's done, okay?"

"Will do," Billy assured her, "Love you."

"Love you too."

He smiled before hanging up. He pocketed the phone, then picked up his duffle bag and began walking down the deserted street.

The meeting place was just a few blocks away, a nondescript building that could be easily overlooked. The perfect place for clandestine activities. Billy quickened his pace, despite knowing he was early; he hated being late.

Reaching the building, he paused out front to scan the area. No sign of any unwanted visitors or shadows tailing him. After satisfying himself that the coast was clear, he pushed through the aged, wooden door and stepped into the dimly lit interior.

The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence, a slow steady rhythm from a leaky faucet the only notable sound. The air smelt like a combination of aged wood and dust. Amidst the shadowy corners, there was a single table at the center of the room, illuminated by a solitary overhead lamp that cast long, wavy shadows on the worn-out cement floor.

Walking over to the table, Billy dropped his duffle bag onto it with an audible thud. The room was empty except for him, but not for long. He made himself comfortable on one of the rickety old chairs while he waited.

Minutes felt like hours in this eerie quietness. Just as Billy was about to reach into his pocket for his phone, the sound of footsteps echoed through the silence. A woman emerged from the darkness into the scant light.

"Kept me waiting," she said with a frown on her face. The voice was rough and low, clearly a woman's voice masking her irritation poorly.

"Traffic's a bitch," Billy shrugged nonchalantly, motioning towards the duffle bag on the table. "Got what you asked for."

The newcomer walked over and stood opposite him at the table, unzipping the bag and peering inside without another word.

After a tense few seconds, she straightened and zipped the bag back up, her icy blue eyes met his.

"Good job, Butcher," she finally said, rewarding him with a curt nod of approval. "You've proven reliable, as always."

"Just doing my part," he responded in a dismissive tone.

She seemed to study him for a moment before she pulled out an envelope from her coat pocket and tossed it onto the table. The envelope skidded across the aged wood to stop just short of his fingers.

"Your payment," she said succinctly.

Billy picked it up and weighed it in his hand, his gaze unwavering from her face. "You know everything inside that bag didn't come cheap right? I risked me wife's job and my life just getting the fucking thing."

Her lips twitched into a mirthless smile, her eyes holding a glint of amusement. "And yet here you are, Butcher. Still alive and kicking, with your wife none the wiser."

A grumble formed in his throat that he swallowed down, one stern look from her enough to remind him of the situation. Billy threw the envelope into his pocket without opening it.

"All I'm saying is, what's the reason for someone like you to want information like that?"

The woman leaned in, her hands flat on the table and her blue eyes piercing into his.

"Does it matter?" she countered, her words dripping with condescension. "You've been paid for your services, Butcher. What I do with what you've given me is none of your business."

Billy held back a frown, narrowing his brown eyes at her.

"Well," he began, leaning back in his chair, "I think it does matter. You see, whatever shitstorm this information is going to stir up, it's likely to affect me and mine."

She regarded him for a moment before pulling out another envelope from her coat pocket and sliding it across the table to him. He opened the envelope to find cash, much more than what he usually got for his services.

"Unless you agree to the offer I gave you, you'll find that getting information out of me will be near impossible."

"And like I said, I'm not going to get Becca caught up in your shit, Mallory."

"Despite the fact you know what 99% of the population will never know?"

"Despite that fact, yes," Billy answered firmly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "She doesn't know, and I won't let her be dragged into this."

The woman studied him in silence, her eyes flicking over Billy's set features before she finally sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Just as stubborn as ever, Butcher…"

"Very well," she said after a moment, breaking eye contact. She stood and picked up the duffle bag, her demeanor suddenly cold and distant. "If you change your mind, you know how to reach me."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Billy responded, stubbornly holding his ground despite feeling a pang of regret as he watched her turn to leave.

"The world needs people like you, Billy Butcher," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the darkness outside. "People who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty for the greater good."

Billy sat in silence for a long time after she'd left, contemplating the ominous words. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the envelope containing his payment. The information inside his duffle bag replayed through his mind.

Compound V, the source of all superpowers.

And the many, many crimes that the people who have powers committed that were swept under the rug. The dirty secrets of those parading as heroes, the corruption that lived beneath their capes and masks. His stomach churned as he thought about it.

Billy traced the edge of the envelope with his finger, in deep thought. He could see the appeal for someone like Mallory to desire that kind of information. But what good would it do for him? To know that the so-called heroes of the world were nothing more than frauds and criminals? The thought ignited anger within him, but he knew he had to keep level-headed.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled it out to see a message from his wife

Becca: "Are you coming home soon? I'm waiting for you with a very special gift~"

The words stung sharply, reminding him of what was at stake.

"No need to get involved," he muttered to himself, pocketing the phone again without replying. He began to stuff the money into the pocket of his coat before standing up and walking towards the door.

As he stepped outside, the night air felt colder against his skin, prompting him to bury his hands deeper into his pockets. He looked around one last time before making his way home.

The walk back seemed to take longer than usual—the quiet deserted streets and flickering lamp posts casting long shadows that reminded him of the conversation he just had.

He paused momentarily outside a store whose television displayed news about a recent heroic act by Homelander. The TV showed a video of him saving a girl from a burning building, the scene bathed in harsh, flashing lights as fire trucks tried to extinguish the flames. 

The girl, no older than 12, clung onto him, her face buried in his chest while reporters swarmed them like vultures over a carcass. The little girl in the video was crying, thanking Homelander between sobs. The hero's comforting words seemed hollow to Billy as he watched from outside the store.

Watching it now, knowing what he did about Compound V and the atrocities hidden beneath these heroic facades, made his skin crawl. A bitter taste filled his mouth as the crowd on screen cheered for Homelander. An innocent act of heroism or an orchestrated spectacle for cameras?

But surely Homelander was different.

…Surely the hero that he and his wife loved wasn't like the rest of those fuckers…